


Nomadic Wishes, Ocean Child

by Decus



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, But don't let me stop you, But there are also a bunch of rarepairs, Dystopia, Feedback appreciated, I really don't know what this is going to turn out to be yet, I'll add the pairings as they become more apparent, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Apocalypse, So I guess you probably shouldn't read if you don't like surprises, The main pairing is a popular pairing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 20:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10772055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decus/pseuds/Decus
Summary: .. ... / - .... . / -- .- -. / .-- .. - .... / - .... . / .--. --- .-- . .-. / --- ...- . .-. / .-- .. -. . / .- / --. --- -.. / --- .-. / ... .. -- .--. .-.. -.-- / .- / .--. .- .-. .. .- .... ..--..





	Nomadic Wishes, Ocean Child

The clanging together of tin cans was a noise that everyone at the commune had come to know as a sign of danger. Reverberating through every cylinder in the compound was a song that only sung fear and so, like mice ensnared in the claws of their feline executer, families scampered into the looming shadows cast by metal and brick. Some, as in any community, felt a duty of protection to their home, and, who exactly could blame them. The creeks of homemade hinges signalled to all that their protectors had awoken and there was no need to fear any longer. No need at all. What a cruel irony was.  
Eventually, a noise, equine galloping, accompanied the metallic rattling, in a restless harmony that most had only resolved to ignore, most being the operative word. For, as the cast iron gates opened up, the guardians of their little town met face to face with a figure whose mind was as thoroughly cloaked as his body. His steps were light as if his feet were a kiss to the ground with every step, which only served to make even the most muscled of those at the gate bear an uneasy expression as they stood in their practised line: an evenly spread position that gave no room for any one man to pass.  
“Who goes there?” The voice belonged to the youngest of the men, barely older than a boy himself; he stood with an expression of determination that could only be described as brash. It was his first time to stand at the gate; if any bypasser had been there to doubt that before then they would have no longer at the boy’s reaction to the response.

“You’re new” came the rasping voice, with an accent that no one there could quite put their finger on. He was foreign and that was enough to cause tension in the settlement that had not a single resident that had not been born within its walls or, at least, had not played a part in its creation.

“And so what if I am, ey?” The younger crossed his arms and leant forward, a little too close, but only recoiled when he was met with a chuckle.

“So now you’re letting children guard the gates. I should have thought you’d have known better.” The fabric of the stranger’s hood creased as he turned his head to face the man with the most resemblance to the louder one. There was a moment where the ambience was all that could be heard before the red-headed man with a strong beard locked his eyes with the other and spoke up.

“Now, I shouldn’t think that was any of your business. I suggest you move along to the next town.”

“Oh,” a harsh laugh rang in the ears of the hamlet, “but I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” The two redheads that had spoken to the entity exchanged a puzzled look. Though it was true that the lad before them was well built, he surely could not have taken all of them, they thought as one. And yet, something about him was off in a way that sent chills down their spines.  
The figure stepped forward, testingly, to find that even the youngest stood his ground. If one had been to peer into the mind of the cloaked one, they would have probably heard something along the lines of: “the bravest are always the most stupid.”  
He had initially gone for the father, the strongest. That was always the way, wasn’t it. A knife to the man’s throat to conceal talents that were so feared that they no longer graced lips. Of course, no one here knew yet.

To say the villagers were wrong in their confidence would have been accurate but to reply in turn that they were foolish for not realising that would have been less so. They couldn’t have known that they’d lost a life, maybe many, by simply opening the gates. They couldn’t have known that this encounter would change their settlement in ways that would ruin the lives of those that had yet even to be born. They couldn’t have known that the one that stood before them was a siren.  
The men jumped into action as soon as their leader was threatened, closing in on the man and poised to draw their weapons.  
“Now, now.” The stranger waggled his finger condescendingly. “I wouldn’t want to do that if I were you. I only wanted to stay the night.”  
“I bloody doubt that” the youngest chided under his breath. This only provoked a sigh from the figure which prompted him to run the blade across the more muscular one’s neck. A thin trickle of blood ran down the clear metal. It was a superficial wound, merely a warning, but that did not restrain the boy’s shaking as he watched his father flinch; the father saw this: his son terrified. He had quite obviously not meant for this to be his first time, so, he met the youth’s eyes with a reassuring face that promised that everything would be alright. Everything would be just fine.  
They stood in this stalemate for a few moments before the endangered one spoke.  
“You can kill me,” he managed, “but you will not survive the onslaught that will come if you do.” That was the first thing said that made the stranger hesitate. Doubt. Maybe that confrontation could have ended in civility, had what happened next not taken place.

The door to one of the barns creaked open and, had it been almost anyone else, attention would not have been drawn away from the imminent danger in their midst.

“Daddy?” A boy, no older than three or four in the darkened doorway, illuminated by the moonlight. He was such a pretty child, with the widest green eyes you’d ever seen and skin paled to a porcelain white from those days upon nights spent inside, away from the dangers of the world. He clutched a candlestick in one unsteady hand and a bedraggled little teddy in the other, stepping closer and closer; he fixated the spectre of a man for a few moments, just enough for the man under the blade to turn the tables on him. In a moment of rushing scenery and the pumping of blood, the cloaked one was locked into his prisoner’s grasp, restrained. All was safe. The father gave a grin to his two sons: the older and the one who was barely larger than a babe. They were protected. It only took a whisper to tarnish that thought forever. The hood slid to the siren's shoulder and the aged forests of the chieftain's orbs met the fiery depths of Hell as his captive, captor, purred one word, merely one, that changed everything.  
Through unkempt braids of reds, oranges and greys, the oldest's head shot up in a panic and turned to his youngest.

“Sweetheart, please, go back to Mum. Now.”

The little one stood, staring dubiously at the one who had brought all this panic to his home. Those imperious globes were so different from anything that he’d ever seen that he found himself drawn, unable to quell the youthful curiosity that pushed him toward a danger far worse than anything he’d heard about in his mother’s stories.  
Every villager was petrified, confused and yet waiting, guiltily, to see what would happen. No one wanted to endanger themselves despite the soft warnings from the man whose blood now dyed his shirt the colour of danger. Yet, they still let the child approach when warnings became pleas.

They all thought it impossible to wield such cruelty with a smile. The men were jolted into action when the boy let out a noise of distress, hands reaching for his fragile neck, then, he squeezed and they ran to stop him as the toddler let out what could barely be considered a cry. His grip tightened with inhuman strength as his brother finally reached him, tugged, yelled. Tears flooded down the face of the man, boy, who never cried, who was the strongest warrior his age; but, still only a child. He pulled and pried as his sibling’s face drained of colour and his voice quietened to nothing.

Consciousness left the child’s body but with that went his strength. The red-haired boy trapped both wrists in his hands, separating them from his neck, finally.

There was the thump of disunited limbs, the splash of blood, like a tidal wave of grief.

Alistair turned to face the gate, face coloured to match his hair, drips of life falling from his hands and pieces of flesh scattered at his feet like broken puzzle pieces.  
He let out a deafening scream, one that surpassed any pain he had ever known. To his knees, he fell, fists pummeling the ground until it wasn’t just his brother’s red that spilt onto the floor. His father shoved the figure into the other citizens’ grasps and ran to his son. Singular. There was nothing left of the younger to have even qualified as a person. The chief had to stop to take it all in. That was all that was left of his baby, the boy of his own that he had cherished with every inch of his heart. The siren barely allowed them time to grieve before he burst into a shrill laugh that cut deeper than broken glass.

“Take him away” came the lowly spoken orders of a man that had just lost his last born. There was no reluctance as the murderer was hauled away; there was no resistance from him as the doors to the gaol slammed shut in a weak attempt to push him far from where he could hurt anyone else. He still held firmly that Cheshire cat grin that would linger with those watching for the rest of their days. He was dangerous. They would not risk something like this, ever again.

The doors of the villagers that had been roused by the noises slid open, just a little, and beheld a sight no one wanted to see. Even when crowds began to form and inquiries flew from every direction, everyone knew what had just happened; they were united in what they had to do now. Alistair and his father were escorted away as villagers acted in their unity, clearing away the remains until it seemed that nothing has happened on that spot at all. People could no longer bear to be in that space, shrouded in death, and so they dispersed, leaving nothing but a sparkling emerald, shining widely behind the hole of an oaken plank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 16/09/17 - Made some edits to the format of the chapter, changed the name and removed the unnecessary description. Hopefully the chapter should read better now. A tad busy with college but still working on this; it's no magnum opus but this is a story I have been looking forward to telling for far too long to give up on it just yet.


End file.
